John Watson Or Arthur Dent?
by J C Cathrine
Summary: Discovering that Arthur is in London, Zooey, New identity, always fun , runs off to find her best friend.Finding him going by the name of John, she and him go on one last adventure to find their daughter.Includes aliens,intergalactic chases &...Sherlock?
1. Chapter 1

Right. So this idea came to me while watching Hitchhickers Guild to the Galaxy. (I know that Martin isn't traditionally a heart breaker but _I _think he is sooo attractive.)

It starts out from Trish's POV but changes around to focus heavily on Sherlock and Johns.

Pairings: Implied Johnlock. If you squint. Probably more in later chapters. If you wish for other pairing just ask and I'll see what I can do. This isn't a love story but I'm always ready to throw at least a little romance in. (I couldn't Not if i tried. It just happens.)

Warnings: None. not for this chapter at least. Later for language and implied sex.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT PLOT.

Enjoy!

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Zooey, (Trish, Trillian a few others, she had had a plethora of names since she settled), sighed to herself. Different names, different planets. Different careers, identities, friends, lovers, and species. Things had certainly calmed down ever since she settled back on Earth 2.0. She had to admit that she loved her current identity. Zooey Deschanel: actress, fashion icon and superstar.

She was doing her best to have as good as a time as possible while waiting for a new ship to come within range of her thumb so she could go off again. She always made sure she had at least a wash-rag on her at all times, just in case.

But then she found out that a certain someone had went and gotten himself settled as well, on this planet, in London of all places.

She was properly pissed that he hadn't searched her out so they could go down and catch-up with some nice tea-like-substance and possibly some biscuits as well. Mind made up she called up her manager and told him she was taking a vacation to London and to postpone all prior engagements until she got back.

She now stood at the corner of a little shop proudly displaying the name Speedy's. The search for her former soul mate, (mix up with the probability, one day they woke up and found that the thought of being anything more than Very Good Friends made them both quite literally sick. The last time they saw each other their relationship could have rivaled the best of siblings. They were both quite happy with this arrangement), was hard going and tiring. The thing she needed was a good strong cup of tea.

As she was entering the little shop the building across the road exploded. She picked herself of off the floor and did the mental body check that was habit and almost a comfort after an explosion. She seemed to have hit her head and sat down again quite hard. Feeling inexplicably dizzy.

The barista shook her head, exasperated, and made a little chalk mark on board entitled: _Explosions on Baker Street: Buildings and Sherlock._

The _Sherlock_ side had too many tallies to count and it appeared that this latest one was the 6th mark on the _Buildings _side.

A kind looking, motherly, face of an older woman presented itself in Zooey's line of vision.

"You all right there, love?"

Zooey discovered that shaking her head wasn't the smartest thing to be doing at this point.

"I'm dizzy," she giggled.

The woman shook her head slightly, "Come with me, dear, we'll have you fixed up in no time. I'm Mrs. Hudson and I live 221b, right next door. One of my boys, dear old John is a doctor. He'll take care of you, no cost, I'm sure of it. He and Sherlock get most of their money from cases anyway. Not that I care – as long as they get it to me and their not stealing it…"

The woman rambled on, not noticing or not caring that Zooey was in no state to really pay attention to anything being said. She allowed herself to be lead out of the café and up the stairs into a cozy little hallway with hideous wall-paper, (Zooey thought), and sat at the bottom of the stairway as instructed by Mrs. Hudson who commented that John wasn't in right now but would be soon.

"I'll just go and fetch you a cuppa while we late. He shan't be long, I think. The last time the place along the road exploded it took him – "

"Exactly 22 minutes and 13 seconds to walk through the door." A deep voice that could make any person swoon cut in, rather rudely, "Now Mrs. Hudson, who is this" – a pause – "Traveler doing at the bottom of the stairs?"

"She looks to have hit her head rather hard when the explosion happened; I was thinking John would take a look at her."

There was some silence; the speaker with the to-orgasm-for voice appeared to be thinking it over, "Very well. I will bring her up and we will wait for John up at the flat. If you would be _so kind_ as to bring up some tea."

"Now Sherlock…"

"Tea. Mrs. Hudson, I will take it from here."

"Oh very well, dear, but just this once. I'm not your house-keeper."

Zooey suddenly felt a cool, larger slender hand on clutching her elbow. "Come on. We will wait for John upstairs. I will let you have the couch because you look concussed and John always says that people with injuries – even trivial ones – take precedent over healthy people comfort. I don't agree with that, it is MY comfort after all, but john will get cross with me if I won't listen and he'll take away my thumbs."

The man sounded so put out about this very confusing declaration that Zooey couldn't help but sympathize with him. Up the stairs and into a much cluttered main room the man, Sherlock, plopped her down on an old couch and sat across from her in an armchair.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, interlocking his fingers and bringing them up to his chin he looked, no, studied was the more appropriate word, like she was the most interesting puzzle he'd ever come across.

Instead of watching him watch her she looked around the room, her head not pounding nearly as much.

"Ms. Deschanel."

His voice snapped her head back at him and his lips twitched into a suppressed smirk.

"Who are you looking for?"

She looked at him stunned, "How did you –"

"Know what you're doing in London? Obvious. I would show off but John isn't here and I really don't feel like it. The only reason I agreed to let you come up was because you could pose and interesting case. Also you puzzle me. And that is no easy feat. All in all, to put it out of terms that only myself, John and possibly Mycroft could understand and in terms idiots understand: You could _relieve my boredom._"

She stared at him, letting the idiot comment slide, (she spent a few days on Eureka), and answered the only thing her mind could make proper sense of in its state, "I'm looking for my best friend, fellow hitchhiker, and brother, Arthur Dent. Will you help me find him?"

He looked at her before demanding, "Facts."

"Last I saw him was a while ago, I'm not sure how long, times got mixed up. At least three years. I missed him but I had no clue where to begin looking so I made myself a life while waiting for something new to come along. Then I heard that he was in London. Hoping to find him and catch up, maybe go on one more trip when the opportunity presents itself. Life has been good, but I miss my Arthur."

He looked at her. "You have no information except that last you heard he was in London? Lost contact for at least three year. Well it's better than anything I heard all week but first we must wait for John to show. He has two minutes judging by the last time this happened."

"You'll help me?"

"As dull as it sounds, yes. I have a hunch it's more then it seems."

The door was slammed open and a man's voice called out, "Sherlock? Mrs. Hudson?"

Sherlock rose, jumped over the back of the chair that he was seated on and flew out the door and down the stairs. "John. Case. Concussed celebrity. Yes, I'm fine. Hurry. Missing person."

John sighed. "Celebrity, Sherlock? How do you know a celebrity? Last I checked you didn't even know who the Prime Minister was."

"She didn't question how I knew her name. Obvious."

"Very well. Concussed you say? I better take a look. Name?"

"I am unaware of the first name, her last is Deschanel."

Then men were walking together up the stairs and Zooey sat on the edge of her seat. She thought how amazingly lucky it was for her to come across a pair of men who could be of such use to her. One to help her find Arthur and the other to make sure she was healthy. It really was too good to be true. When she found Marvin she would have to ask him what the probability was.

The door opened just as Sherlock answered John's question about the name of the missing person.

"Arthur Dent."

The man's eyes widen, a look of honest surprise and a little bit of alarm (never panic), flitted across his face and all Zooey could do was stare. The man standing before her, short, cropped dirty blond hair and a well-worn leather jacket. Face aged with laughter and adrenaline and danger and tears and worry, was,

"Arthur!" Zooey all but screamed and threw herself at the man.

"Trish!" Arthur laughed, caught her and spun her around in a tight hug.

Neither of them noticed that Sherlock was looking back and forth between them with authentic confusion. "John?" He questioned.

"Not now, Sherlock." He was brushed off. John _never_ brushed him off. Not without a promise of explanation later.

Arms not leaving the girl, John lead her back to the couch and sat her back down. He began and examination of her head. "What's this I hear of you being a celebrity, Trish? What kind of last name is Deschanel? And since when have you had a last name?"

"I needed a last name. I'm an actress now. Zooey Deschanel. And what about you? John? Doctor? You were never smart enough to go to med school."

Sherlock, unnoticed by the two, back in the arm chair, scowled. Only he was allowed to insult John's intelligence.

"Please," John waved his hand, "After learning the probability of physics in space a doctorate was nothing. Took me two years. What about you? Have you settled permanently?"

"No. I don't think I could ever settle permanently. I'm just waiting for something new to show up within range. It's been a while, after a month or two I decided I needed an identity while I wait. What about you? Permanently settled?"

"For the moment. I'm pretty tied down, at the moment. Have to keep this idiot," he jerked his thumb towards Sherlock, "alive, now don't I? There was a time, about a year back, when I spent a few years hitchhiking again, three years to be exact." His eyes darkened, remembering past horrors.

"He faked his death. The bugger." This comment suddenly reminded John that Sherlock was, in fact, still in the room and listening avidly with vivid confusion. "C'mon, Trish, let's go for lunch. We can catch up properly and you can tell me what Ford and Zephod have been up to. I can never get the right frequency to hear about news that far out. Damn the Earth 2.0's placement, right?"

"Wait, John?" Sherlock stood when John did. "John, what's going on? Who is this woman? Who's Arthur Dent and where do you know her from? 2.0? Settling? Why couldn't I figure this out? What's happening?"

Trish watched Sherlock questioned Arthur, _John_, she reminded herself, thoroughly, verging on panic. And saw as John's eyes soften like they used to when they looked at her.

"Sherlock, Don't Panic, alright? I'll explain everything when we get back. I promise you, I am coming back."

Sherlock's face, to me at least, was impassive, but evidently John saw something in it, "Look, I'll bring my gun, alright? And I'll next you if anyone starts to trail us."

"Mycroft." Sherlock responded quietly.

"Yes. I'll even text Mycroft. Happy? I might be late. Sherlock."

His name was soft coming from John's voice and Sherlock looked at him, "Yes?"

"I know what you're thinking. We're not dating. We were. But now she is as my sister. Okay? I won't leave you" And on that note he gestured for Trish to follow him and walked past the taller man.

The door suddenly burst open and John's incredulous voice said, "Ford?"

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So? Do you like it? Should I continue? Any thoughts on what should happen? Want and explanation about something? I make a point to try and answer to Reviews so please shoot me one!

This was written in 4 hours with minimal editing. So tell me if i need to change anything.

Thanks for reading. I'll get the next chapter up when i write it. Finials are coming up so think of this as a teaser. I'm probably going to go on hiatus for a month or so after this. but it depends on if I get really inspired by my muse or not.

We'll see

Love you for reading and reviewing

-JC


	2. Chapter 2

**Yes. Finally. This story won't leave me alone, for everyone following my other stories sorry but this one has my current attention.**_  
_

**It's super short, only around 1000 words, but the chapter seemed to want to end. I've already began writing the next one, however. So it should be up soon...ish.**

**Some plot starts here, at the end. Enjoy!**

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_Suddenly the door burst open and John's incredulous voice said, "Ford?"_

"Ford?" John's voice could be heard from the top of the stairs. "Great to see you, mate! What are you doing here? You'll never believe who else showed up today-"

"Ford!" Trish exclaimed, running past a shocked Sherlock and down the stair, throwing herself at the man.

"Trish? What are you doing here?" the man, apparently called Ford asked. "When did you show up? "

"Today. Where did you come from? Where's Lilly?"

"Yes, Ford," John asked, "Where _is_ Lilly?"

"Doya got any snacks? Salty things, beer? I had to leave in a rush so I wasn't able to refuel." Ford ignored the question and pushed past the two friends. He took the stairs three at a time and when he passed Sherlock on the landing he pointed at him but kept walking into the flat and called down to John, "Who's this bloke, Arthur? He looks like he belongs on the far side of Vidcronus 343."

Trish began nodding enthusiastically. "He totally does, John! Is that where he's from?"

John, to Sherlock's bafflement, coloured a little. He trudged up the stairs with Trish following close behind. "No. He's human, as far as we know. At least he's never mentioned otherwise. But yes, I thought so too. Maybe some ancestor came down and had some fun. Much like you, Ford."

"Whats wrong with a little fun?" Ford asked, his mouth full of food.

John and Trish rolled their eyes at each other and answered him in unison, "absolutely nothing, Ford." Sarcasm was evident in both of their voices.

The three friends continued bantering while Sherlock watched on in bafflement. Finally he had enough of not understanding and _enough_ of watching John get on so well with these two people who just_ didn't make any sense._

He walked over to his violin, unnoticed, picked it up and drew a coaxed a harsh shrill from the strings. The two guests jumped and spun around to look at the intimidating, dark haired, fair skinned man with the impeccable dress standing hold the violin. They both looked down, just a little bit cowed, and took small steps back.

John's face had gone hard, he turned slowly and with military precision. He walked over to the looming Sherlock and got up in his face, "What," he said, "Is your problem." It didn't sound like a question.

Sherlock glared at the shorter man and didn't step back. "I don't understand, John. They don't make any sense."

"Of course they don't, Sherlock."

"How can you say that? Everybody, I'm able to work out everybody, but these two, nothing adds up. I. Don't. Understand. And I don't like it."

"Sherlock," John said in the specific tone that he used when he wanted Sherlock to know just how very patient he was being, "Did I now tell you that I would explain everything later?"

The two men tried to stare each other down.

Ford nudged Trish and whispered in her ear, "Ten says their shagging."

Trish nodded and whispered back, "Ten says their in love but don't know it yet."

"You're on," they shook on it just as Sherlock backed down, lowering his eyes.

"You did," he conceded to the blond man.

"So I will, I promise, Sherlock. Okay? Just let me catch up with these guys and I'll explain everything later this evening."

Sherlock pondered this for a second before nodded to John. He stalked past the guest, who stood aside to let him by, and sat down in front of the microscope on the kitchen table. Ignoring everything else and acting as if John had not just won he said, "John. Tea."

John rolled his eyes fondly at the man and addressed the two out of place people who were watching them closely, "You guys go sit down in the sitting room. I'll put the kettle on and meet you in there."

Trish and Ford both nodded and went into the main room.

When John came out of the kitchen a few minutes later with tea the two were talking quietly.

"Trish's been telling me that you go by the name of John Watson now. And that that bloke in the kitchen is Sherlock Holmes. You telling me you've settled, mate?"

John nodded, "For the time being I have. I can't leave Sherlock, I'm pretty tied down. I don't know how he survived before me, man can't even make his own tea and has to be reminded to eat and sleep." He rolled his eyes. Trish and Ford looked at each other meaningfully.

"John, you and Sherlock-" Trish began.

"Not like that." John interjected with a sigh. "We're just friends."

Ford raised his eyebrows, "Get that a lot, do ya?"

"More often than not," was John's resigned reply. "So," he continued, "Ford, where's Lilly? I hope you didn't just leave her in some motel somewhere, you know the sort of trouble she gets into."

Ford fidgeted and shifted in his seat, "Well, ahh, actually about that.."

Trish looked up at him, hearing something in his voice that she didn't like her eyes turned sharp, "What about that, Ford? Where is she?"

"I...I lost her. But I can explain!"

John went still and stared at his friend, Trish was looking wide-eyed at the dark man, the air in the room stilled and became stifling. John and Trish trying to process what their friend had just told them. Sherlock then walked into the room, shattering the shock.

John jumped and yelled at Ford in horror, "You did what? What the hell do you mean you lost her? How could you LOSE her? She's a seventeen year old girl, give or take a few, and you lost her? We trusted her with you because neither of us could take care of her and she wanted to travel! You Promised us, both of us that you would look out for her and now you come to us saying that you _lost_ our _daughter?_"

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**Did you like? Like I said, sorry it's short. I work on it when I can, busy schedule and all. Drop a review and let me know what you think. What you want to see. What I could improve on or if you just wanted to say, 'hey, read this. liked/disliked it.' then that's chill too.**

**Thanks!**

**-JC**


	3. Chapter 3

_You Promised us, both of us that you would look out for her and now you come to us saying that you _lost _our _daughter_?"_

Sherlock heard the voices of John and the two people that didn't add up silence and felt something shift in the room next to the one he was in. He stilled with it, eyes staring unseesing through the microscope. When the voices refused to continue and the air stopped moving he decided to investigate.

After all, he was Sherlock Holmes, it was his job to know what other people didnt; having someone else know something that he didn't could not be tolerated.

When he walked into the room he apparently shattered something and John stood suddunly, probably not even aware that he was standing, (fight or flight reflexes - what happened to cause that?), and began yelling at the man.

Ford, Sherlock reminded himself, names, how dull.

"You did what? What the hell do you mean you lost her? How could you LOSE her? She's a seventeen year old girl, give or take a few, and you lost her? We trusted her with you because neither of us could take care of her and she wanted to travel! You Promised us, both of us that you would look out for her and now you come to us saying that you _lost_ our _daughter?_"

Sherlock stared at his doctor, a few things in his mind clicking into place, before slapping his forehead, "Oh stupid, supid."

John turned and glared at Sherlock, "Oh what do you want now?"

Sherlock continued to speak, ignoring him, "You see I thought that it was just because you were a doctor, but no. Of course not. Nothing about John Watson is ever simple, obvious. Of course you're a father. Caring, loving, always trying to do whats best for a person and willing to kill those who threaten those you consider yourself attached to. Paternial qualities. You've proven that, several times." Sherlock got close to John, ignoring clenched fists and personal space, John didn't back down and met his eyes. "Now the mother, you're friend of course. That much is obvious, but whats odd is -"

"Sherlock." John warned.

Sherlock heard him, thought about the very obvious warning in his friends voice. He could ignore it as he normally does, address it, or just shut-up. He didn't particularly feel like shutting up at the moment but he knew that if he kept going on the sentances he had planned, judgeing by John's left hand, he would get punched.

And he didn't want that, either, (John had a mean left-hook). He went for the middle option, addressing it.

"Oh be quiet John, it's not me you're angry at so don't look at me like that."

So it wasn't the most tactful way of addressing John's anger.

It was painful too.

"Ouuuch, John!" Sherlock whined, rubbing his forehead.

"Well it's your own fault, you bloody git. Start talking like that and I won't be afraid to do it again."

"You _flicked_ me. In the forehead!"

"You deserved it."

They looked at each other and Sherlock began to grin. John began to laugh and soon both were giggling like school-girls walking out of the restrooms together.

Ford and Trish stood stunned, staring at the two men, who had obviously forgotten about them for the moment. Finally Trish cleared her throat. "Erm...boys? John?"

John straighted and looked back at his old friends. "Right, yes. Sorry." He turned to Sherlock, who was still giggling, "Stop that. We can't giggle, I just found out my daughter's a missing person."

Ford cringed, looking guilty, as John directed a glare at him again. "Right. I'm mad at you, very mad. And every molecule in my body wants to punch you. But I won't. It's just so lucky that my best friend and flatmate is the amazing Sherlock Holmes."

At this Sherlock smiled at his John, who continued to speak. "And he's taking this case because if he doesn't I'll throw out that hand experiment he's working on that he thinks I don't know about."

Sherlock glowered at him. "I would have taken it anyway, John. Don't I aways take cases that obviously mean something to you?"

John's lips quirked at him, "Just making sure, 'Lock."

Sherlock grimiced at the nickname but didn't mention anything. "Right," he demanded of Ford, "facts."

Ford opened his mouth to begin to speak but John and Trish cut him off at the same time,

"First I should tell you -"

"Shouldn't you tell him -"

She looked at each other and nodded, John continued to speak, "First, Sherlock, before Ford tells you the facts, I should tell you about...well, I should tell you about my life up until now."

Sherlock nodded, sitting in his chair and steepling his fingers together under his chin. John sat across from him. A position the two had shared so many times in the past.

Ford and Trish stared at them, obviously feeling as if they were intruding on something. Sherlock and John were so...familer. So compfortable and _aware_ of each other that they could help but feel like outsiders when their attention was being directed soly at the other.

Trish stood, trying to be as silent as possible and motioned for Ford to follow her. She went into the kitchen just as John opened his mouth to begin to speak.

"When I was 26, my life was going nowhere. I loved alone in the contry. I didn't like my job overmuch, didn't have a girlfriend or a future in any way. Ford there was my only friend after I stopped him from being hit by a car.

Any way, it was a day in Augest when trucks surrounded my house intending to tear it down to make room for a bypass.

I haven't changed so much, I was just as stubborn back then. I layed down in front of the tractor to prevent the demolistion to start."

"John," Sherlock cut in, impatiently, "How does this have to do with anything?

"I'm getting there. Just wait. Where was I, oh yes. I was laying down in front of the bulldozer when Ford comes running up with a shopping cart loaded with beer, and tries to get me to come down to the pub with him for a pint in the middle of the afternoon because my home is going to be demolished so we had to stack up on salty things."

John laughed at the look on Sherlock's face. "I know. I didn't understand a word of what he was saying either. It turns out that the 'home' Ford was talking about was not the house that I lived in, but the entire earth. Ford made me grab a towel, put a fish in my ear, and beamed him and me up to this spaceship that was orbiting right above us using a ring on his thumb."

Sherlock gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe a word of what he was saying, but all the he questioned was, "Fish?"

John nodded, "Yes. Babel Fish. Universal translater. I suppose we're going to have to get you one."

"So it's not really a fish."

"No it is, I've never really understood it myself but..oh I know! Here, you can let the Guide explain."

John turned towards the kitchen, "Hey Ford, can you bring me your copy of the Guide?"

Ford and Trish were conversing about how to figure out if John and Sherlock were shagging or not when John called him over. Ford drew a small black book with DON'T PANIC written in bright red words on the back, "Here ya go, John." He said, handing it to him.

John thanked him and opened it up, searching for _Bable Fish._

_Bable Fish: The Bable fish is small, yellow, leechlike, and porobably the oddest thing in the universe. It feeds on breainwave energy,absoribing unconciouse frequensies and extreting a matrix of consiousness to the speech receptors in the brain. The praticle upshot of this is if you stick one in your ear you instantly understand anything said to you in any language. _

Sherlock was staring at the little black book with a slight frown on his face. John looked at his expression and determined that he had better just conintue with his story,

"So..." he said, trying to get Sherlock to turn his attention back to him, "it turns out that the ship we beamed up to was in fact the very same ship that was trying to destroy the Earth to make way for a interspacial bypass." He grinned, "Yes, I rather enjoyed the irony if the sitchuation and felt rather smug about it."

Sherlock just blinked at him, so he continued, "So. There I was, in an alien spaceship with an alien as a friend and companian, a fish in my ear, and a towel around my shoulders. And I was about to be subjected to some of the worst poetry ever, anywhere..."

John continued, and Trish walked up quietly to his and tapped him on the shoulder, "Erm..John?"

He turned around in his seat like he had forgotten there were other's in the flat, "Oh, Yeah, Trish, what's up?"

"Perhaps you'd like to skip a bit? I mean, why don't you just tell him the basic facts, our daughter is missing, if you'd care to remember."

John looked properly admonished, "Right, sorry Trish." He turned back to Sherlock, "Okay, erm...what you need to know. Right. Aliens are real. They usually don't waste their time with us. Trish, Ford, and I are what's known as hitchhickers. As long as we have our Guild, a Towel and a Ring, we have full range of where ever the nexct ship takes us." He smiled, 'It's a good life, can get a bit dangorous at times, exciting. But you know how I feel about that. Remeber the first day we met?"

At this Sherlock looked like he was on firmer ground, "And I said dangorous, and here you are."

John chuckled along with him, "Exactly. Well when you went from a poor, hard boyhood to a dull, calm and all around boring young adulthood, well, I was in need of that old boost of adrenaline."

Sherlock's lips quirked up, "You're more of an addict then I am."

John laughed, "It's only your damn fault."

Sherlock put on a look of offence that fooled Trish and Ford but which John knew was in jest, and didn't address it, just chuckled quietly.

"Right," he said, "Well, that's about the whole of it. Oh. And Martin is our depressed robot and the most intellegent thing in the universe, not including the Earth, of course."

At Sherlock's eyebrow raise John sighed, "The earth is actually a giant computer disinged by mice to give us the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything."

Sherlock scoffed, "They needed to create a giant, planet sized computer for that?"

John stared at him, "Well, it's not like it's something you can just think up...can you?"

"I figured it out when I was 9 on a rainy weekend." Sherlock said.

"You did not."

"I did."

"What is it, then, Mr. I'm-smarter-then-the entire-planet?"

"42."

"How did you-"

"Oh it was simple really, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Ford came up behind a stunned John, "If he weren't such a prat I would keep him around, John. How do you always find these people?"

John ignored him, after a bit, and addressed Sherlock, "So. Do you think that you can work with the facts now and help find my daughter? Or do you need time to process that aliens do actually exsist and that you're flatmate used to tavel the universe using a device on his thumb?"

Sherlock waved a hand, "I can handle the fact that aliens exsist, John, honestly. The probability is much to great that it would be a mirical were they not exsisting. You, on the other hand, well, I think I'll need to add another room to your wing of my palace."

"I...a whole wing?"

Sherlock suddunly became standoffish, he turned to Ford and addressed him, "Right. Facts."


End file.
